The Survivor
by Meshakhad
Summary: After Peter explodes, Claire has to survive on her own. But in order to do this, she must destroy the people who are after her. AU, splits off during HtSaEM.
1. The Explosion

My first shot at some fanfic. This AU story revolves around Claire after Peter explodes, and how she deals with being alive when so many others are dead. I own nothing in this story. Heroes and all characters are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. Rated T for one nude scene (non-sexual), and future violence.

This is merely Chapter 1 of what will be a long and dark saga. Chapter 2 is mostly written out, but I have yet to finish it. Please review both my work and my writing style. I would love to have story ideas for the future.

November 8

Nathan – I still thought of him as Nathan – and my grandmother led me into his office. "The helicopter will pick us up on the roof in ten minutes," she said. "When the jet lands tomorrow morning, you'll be safe."

"But everybody else will be dead," I retorted. "How can you let this happen?"

"It's inevitable, dear." I was really starting to hate my grandmother.

"Nothing is inevitable! The future is not written in stone!" I shot back. The quote from Terminator 2 – "No fate but what we make" came to my mind.

"I'm afraid this one is," Nathan stated in a solemn voice. He didn't look particularly happy about New York exploding, while my grandmother seemed to be salivating over the possibility.

"If everything is so inevitable, then why have you been trying to keep us apart all these years?"

"There are simply some things you're not mature enough to understand," my grandmother chastised me.

I wanted to hit my grandmother. I've _died_ twice, nearly been _raped_, seen my former best friend _murdered_ because the killer thought she was me, and I actually care about people who are going to die in a nuclear explosion. What the hell does _she_ know about maturity?

"He's your own _son_!" I shouted at my grandmother. Turning to Nathan: "Your own brother!"

"Thanks to you, Peter has the ability to survive," she said.

"So he lives, and kills _millions_," I gritted. "How can you let him be responsible for something like that?" I addressed Nathan: "And how can you live with yourself if he is?"

Nathan moved over to me. "This is all going to make sense very soon."

"Come with us," she said. "We can provide you with what you've always wanted. A home, a family."

Nathan – my father – opened his arms, and we embraced. I considered going with him. Then I remembered my other father, and what he had done for me. Noah Bennet had raised me. He had provided for me. He had even taken a bullet for me. There was no choice.

I pushed Nathan away, and glared at him.

"I already have a family."

I pushed him away, and took the nearest exit – the window. I fell for about three seconds before going splat on the pavement. Once my bones were back in place, I brushed myself off, and started walking.

When I entered Kirby Plaza, the scene did not look good. A blonde woman, a black man, and two kids watched from one corner of the plaza. An Indian man stood over Matt Parkman, who was on the ground. Dad was sitting with his back against a column, clearly injured. Sylar lay dead on the ground. And – my worst fear – Peter Petrelli was standing in front of a sculpture, his entire body glowing.

I took a pistol from my father, and walked towards Peter.

"Do it, Claire," Peter gasped, his hands glowing and pulsing with radiation. Tears streamed down my face as I cocked the hammer.

"Do it!" he urged. I shook the gun, as if I was trying to force the bullet out. I couldn't do this. This was my uncle, my hero. He had saved me from the man who had killed Jackie. I couldn't _shoot_ him! The fact that he was urging me to do it only made it worse.

"Tell me there's another way!" I sobbed. I saw his hands glow brighter.

"Claire, I'm losing control!" he said. I tried to squeeze the trigger. It was taking all my willpower just to twitch my finger.

"No, no, NOOOOO!" Peter cried out. There was a blinding white light. And then everything went black.

November 9

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that I was in the water. Actually, in the ocean. I then noticed that I was naked. About a hundred crazy thoughts raced through my head before I saw the smoke rising from New York and remembered what had happened. Peter had exploded. I must have been incinerated, then blasted towards the sea. And regenerated.

I swam towards the shore. It was tiring, but I made it. I came ashore in Brooklyn. The place had been devastated by the explosion. Everything was charred black – like how I had been after my close encounter with Ted Sprague. Every window facing Manhattan had been shattered. And there were no more wooden buildings. I saw a few wooden splinters the size of my leg embedded in a brick wall. I walked over to examine the splinters, when I found a few pieces of fabric. They were T-shirts – In-N-Out T-shirts. One of them was mostly intact. I slipped it on, glad to have found _something_ to wear.

My bare foot stepped on something soft. I looked down, and was shocked to see a dead body. It was a man, probably in his thirties. He had been crushed by the remnants of an oven. I had seen death before – Jackie, for example – but there is a difference between seeing someone being killed and unexpectedly finding a dead body. The former is undoubtedly worse, but the latter is the one that makes you lose your lunch. Of course, my lunch had been obliterated along with New York.

I entered the building which had been hit by the giant splinters. Unlike the In-N-Out that had stood next door, this one had survived. Fortunately for me, it was a sporting goods store. And it had been abandoned. I took thermal underwear, ski pants, thick socks, basketball shoes, and a nice jacket. I also helped myself to a good backpack with a built-in Camelback. I filled the pack with a spare set of clothes, a sleeping bag and bedroll and as many energy bars as I could carry. I felt sorta bad about stealing, especially when there was a good chance that the store owners were still alive. But I needed clothes and food. Before leaving, I also took a sharp knife, in case I needed to defend myself.

I walked through the abandoned streets of Brooklyn. The place was devastated, and there were bodies in the open. However, I didn't find anyone alive. Either everyone was dead, or everyone had left. Probably the latter. I wouldn't want to hang out in the outskirts of a nuclear blast zone either.

Maybe an hour later, I found some other people. They, like me, were walking. Some had radiation burns. Most were unharmed. I got the distinct impression that many of these people were poor – quite a few had tattered clothes. Others were dressed like the wannabe gangstas at Union Wells. I noticed that everyone was headed in the same direction. So I followed. Nobody seemed to notice me, which I guess was a good thing. I was not in the mood to stand out.

An hour after I joined the group, we crossed the bridge to Staten Island. From the conversations I overheard, Staten Island was outside the danger zone. It was safe. There was a checkpoint, but it was just to collect names. I gave them my name, and I was driven to a community center where refugees were being housed.

We were each given food, and a place to sleep on the floor. Luckily I had grabbed a sleeping bag from the sporting goods store, so I was comfortable. As I ate, I listened to people talking. Theories as to what had happened were flying around. A lot of people claimed that it must be terrorists. Some theorized that the government had orchestrated this tragedy to gain power. One homeless man swore that he saw a flying saucer come in and blow up Manhattan.

I began to think about what had happened. I, of course, had all the pieces of the puzzle. I knew that it wasn't terrorists, or aliens, or even the government. But why had Peter exploded? Why had my uncle exploded and turned Manhattan into Hiroshima?

I went over the events in my head again and again. There was only one possible conclusion. I was responsible. If I had pulled that trigger, Peter wouldn't have exploded. But I didn't. It was my weakness that had destroyed New York.

I cried myself to sleep that night.


	2. Fire

Here is Chapter 2. I do not own Heroes, or any characters from that show – they are owned by NBC and Tim Kring. Please review - I tried to slow down the pace a little, and I want to see what people think. I also need some suggestions for later chapters.

* * *

November 12 

I was awakened by an aid worker, who said that I had a visitor. At first I thought it would be one of Nathan's goons, or even Nathan himself. Instead, I was introduced to a cop.

"Claire Bennet?" He had a Texas accent.

"Yes?"

"My name is Officer Tucker of the Odessa City Police. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Just when I thought my life had hit rock-bottom, it got worse. Mom and Lyle were dead. They had been murdered in a drive-by shooting. The police thought that it might be gang-related. But I knew that it was the Company – the people Dad worked for. I also _knew_ that there was a connection between the Company and my grandmother.

In less than two months, my life had completely collapsed. First I had discovered my power. I thought that I was a freak. I thought that I would end up as a guinea pig of some kind, spending my life in a laboratory. I thought I met my real parents, but they weren't real. I figured that they were probably dead. So I had lost my biological family.

Then there was homecoming, and I lost Jackie, but I met Peter Petrelli. And then I lost Zach. Finally, I had to act like I had lost my memory. For two weeks, I lived the lie that I remembered nothing of homecoming, or of my abilities.

Things started looking up a few weeks later. I got Zach back, and I met my biological mother. I nearly met my biological father, but that didn't go too well. But then my mom began having memory lapses, and I began to lose her.

The real downturn came when Ted Sprague and Matt Parkman showed up at our house. That was the last time I ever saw my mother and brother, but I didn't know it at the time. What I lost that day was a home. Not only did my house literally blow up, but I was separated from my family.

I was on the verge of gaining a new family, when the explosion came. That explosion took away my dad and my uncle. It also shattered any chance that I would go to live with Nathan Petrelli. I could if I wanted to, but I didn't want to. And now I had lost my old family for good.

November 15

My sixteenth birthday. Nathan showed up at the refugee camp. He made an inspiring speech to everyone, about how we will unite in the wake of this tragedy. I could barely conceal my hatred for him. When others cheered, I glared. I left before the press conference.

Shortly after the speech, Nathan's wife, Heidi, came through the hall I was staying in. She was in a wheelchair, but looked uncomfortable in it. She spoke to several of the refugees before coming to a stop in front of me.

"And who are you?" she asked me.

"Claire Bennet," I said.

"Where are your parents, Claire?"

"They're dead."

"Well, I have some good news, Claire. Before coming here, I checked to see if any of your family had contacted you. Your grandmother is alive – she's in Massachusetts. A van will take you in an hour."

I did a good impression of being shocked. I didn't want to live with my bio-parents, but I did want to see my grandmother again. I needed to get some answers from her.

The drive to Massachusetts took forever, mostly due to traffic. But late that night, the black van arrived at the Petrellis' vacation home in Nantucket. My grandmother – Angela – was waiting for me. She was dressed in a white fur coat with black trim. It was typical of her – prim, poised, and cold as ice.

The first thing I did was to deck her. She didn't fall over, but she was holding her nose. I had probably broken it.

"YOU BITCH!" I spat at her. "Are you so desperate to have me live with you to kill my family?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she said. "And that is no way to talk to your grandmother."

"My mom and brother! They were murdered, and I _know_ you were involved. Why did you do it?"

"There are a lot of things you aren't mature enough to understand. Eventually, you will."

That did it. I drew the knife out of my backpack, and lunged forward. Before I reached Angela, a guard grabbed me and pulled the knife out of my hand.

"You will have to learn some decency, young lady," she chastised me, as if I had merely sworn at her rather than gone after her with a knife.

I think that's what set it off. All the grief and frustration and rage I had built up came out. A gout of fire burst from my hand, burning my grandmother's face, and setting her coat on fire. More bodyguards came to help her, and keep me away from her. I simply stared at my hands. True, I had seen stuff like this before – specifically, with my birth mother – but when you do it yourself, it's different.

I gave my grandmother one final glare. "You know how parents sometimes disown their children?" I said. "Well, I'm disowning you. As of now, you are no longer my family. Goodbye, Angela Petrelli."

I stormed out of there. As I did, I passed a weeping willow tree. I took a good look at it. It was clearly quite old. I could just make out an ancient "D + A" inside a heart. "D" – that would be my grandfather, David Petrelli. My grandparents must have carved their initials into the tree decades ago.

I torched the willow. Blasted it with flame. While it burned, it looked similar to a mushroom cloud. I left it as a reminder to the Petrellis. A reminder that I existed, and that I hated them. I had burned a memory of theirs to ash. As did any connections I had with the Petrelli family.

I spent that night in a secluded spot near a rocky beach. I had lost almost everything in my life – my home, my friends, my family. What did I have left to connect me with my old identity?

The answer came a moment later – myself. The only connection I had with the old Claire Bennet was me – my mind, my body. No matter what they did, I would always exist. I would always be alive. And I found some comfort in that. I am a survivor. I am _invincible_.

November 16

My original plan had been to simply hike across the country back to Texas. However, there was a slight problem – Nantucket is an island. We had arrived via ferry, and in order to get off, I would need to take the ferry back. With my purse vaporized along with New York, I was wondering how I could get money for a ticket.

For my fifteenth birthday, my parents had gotten me a debit card, in an attempt to curb my spending habits. When we were about to leave for Paris, Angela Petrelli had deposited a large sum of money in the account. And while my debit card had also been vaporized, there was a Bank of America in Nantucket.

I walked in just as the bank opened. The teller – a middle-aged black woman – greeted me.

"How can I help you, dear?"

"I lost my debit card in a fire. How do I get a replacement?"

"Do you remember the number?"

Most people wouldn't, but before I ran, I _had_ memorized my debit card number, in case I lost the card. It was a good idea. I wrote down the number for her.

"OK, that will make it a lot easier. Now, I just need you to fill out this form."

The form asked basic information. I paused at the address line, before putting in my old address. My parents had set up a P.O. box for our mail to be forwarded to, so I could pick up any credit reports or the like. I turned in the form, and the teller went into a back room. Five minutes later, she handed me my new debit card. An hour later, I was on the ferry to the mainland.

December 24

I arrived in Pittsburgh on Christmas Eve. I had hiked all the way there from Massachusetts. Previously, I had slept outdoors, in areas not likely to attract attention. I used my money solely for food. But tonight, I decided that I would sleep indoors, as a sort of Christmas present to myself.

Also, it was really cold.

I wandered into the city, looking for a place to sleep. I ended up inside an old warehouse that looked like it was falling apart. I doubted that anyone would disturb me in here. I made a fire out of a smashed crate, and warmed up some beef jerky I had bought.

Not long after I had eaten, I heard screaming from outside. Screaming, and laughter. I listened closely, and I could tell that it was a woman screaming and two men laughing. I heard the woman cry "Rape!" and I rushed outside, leaving my backpack by the fire.

Outside, two men were chasing a young woman. She looked a few years older than me, and wore a torn white sweatshirt. In fact, most of her clothes were torn. The men were in dark jackets, and one of them had a knife.

I couldn't go to the police – I didn't have a cellphone. But I had to act – I couldn't let this woman be raped. Inaction had resulted in the destruction of New York. I had the power to stop them. It was time to use it. I recalled the time when Brody tried to rape me. I focused all my anger into my hands, and unleashed it on the rapist near me.

Fire roared from my hands, reaching towards him. He turned and looked at me, his eyes wide with shock, before he was burned alive. Almost without thinking, I sent another blast against the second rapist. The woman stared at me with a mix of gratitude and shock. Then she ran away.

Returning to my fire, I thought about what I had just done. I had killed. I chose to end the lives of two men. What right did I have to do that? What had they done to deserve death?

I knew the answer. They had tried to rape a woman. Today, a woman would return home – scared, but safe. More importantly, nobody else would be threatened by these two again. I had almost been raped myself. I knew how she had felt. And while I felt some guilt over killing the rapists, I knew that given the circumstances, it was the right thing to do.


	3. Odessa

OK, folks, here it is. Chapter 3. Claire says goodbye to her old life, and plots the assault on Primatech. Some Clach. Please read & review.

Also, I should credit Couch Baron of for his recap of "How to Stop an Exploding Man?" which I used as a reference when writing Chapter 1.

Yes, I did take down this chapter and repost it. I found a serious typo, so I changed it.

* * *

February 14 

I arrived at last. After nearly three months of walking and hitchhiking, I had come home to Odessa. So much had changed. Nearly everything that was familiar to me was gone, but Odessa held the last fragments of my old life. And if I had a home, it was here. I had been raised here. I had gone to school here. I had learned of my powers here. And I had died here, if only temporarily.

I stopped by my house. It had been repaired, and there was a "For Sale" sign up. Apparently, the bank had foreclosed on the house. I was saddened by the fact that my house was no longer my own, but I was hardly going to move back in.

The door was locked, but I remembered where we kept the emergency key in the backyard. I dug it out from behind the angel statue, and opened the back door. Yes, I was breaking and entering, but this was once my house.

The house layout had not been changed, but the furniture had been replaced. I slowly walked through the kitchen and living room, letting memories wash over me. I remembered sitting on the couch with my newborn brother when I was three. I remembered meeting my fake parents. I remembered finding my mother passed out in the kitchen. And I remembered tranquilizing Ted Sprague as he burned our house.

I went upstairs to my room. As seemed to be the pattern in the house, it was still a bedroom – but the furniture was different. I remembered Zach climbing through my window to 'rescue' me. I remembered sitting on my bed calling anyone in Kermit with the surname Gordon. I remembered waking up after being shot by Parkman, and spitting the bullet out.

I spent the night there. I had lived there for nearly all my life – it only made sense for me to say goodbye.

April 15

I went to the cemetery in the morning. As I expected, a funeral for my mother and brother had been held in my absence. Presumably, all their blood relatives had come instead. I brought a bouquet of flowers to place on their grave.

Near the end of the cemetery, there was a large granite tombstone. It was designed for two people, but there were three names:

SANDRA BENNET NOAH BENNET LYLE BENNET

LOVING WIFE & MOTHER DEVOTED HUSBAND & FATHER BELOVED SON

1969-2006 1966-2006 1995-2006

It made sense, after all. My father's body had been obliterated, so he could never be buried. But he would have wanted to be buried with his wife and son. So they had put his name on the tombstone as well.

I sat by my family's grave for several minutes. I thought about death. I had experienced death three times. The first time, Brody had accidentally impaled my skull on a branch. I had awoken on an autopsy table, and gotten quite a shock when I saw my chest cut open for autopsy. I had pulled my skin back together before stealing a lab coat and sneaking home.

The second time was when Matt Parkman and Ted Sprague burst into my house. Sprague had been holding a gun to Mom's head, and was about to kill her. I had mentally urged Parkman to shoot me instead, and he obliged. I had awoken on my bed a few minutes later.

The third time was when Peter exploded, and I was totally incinerated. I had awoken hours later in the water off of Brooklyn. After swimming to shore, I had stolen some clothes and supplies from a sporting goods store before walking to Staten Island.

I don't remember what it was like to be dead. The best description I can come up with is that it is like being knocked out. I don't recall seeing a light, or my life flashing before my eyes. Maybe because each death was only temporary. I would die again, in all likelihood. But permanent death would be an experience I would never share.

Before leaving the cemetery, I stopped by Jackie's grave. Jackie's family had a private plot, surrounded by a fence. Stepping past the graves of her family, I read the inscription on Jackie's tombstone:

JACQUELINE WILCOX

CHERISHED DAUGHTER

1992-2006

I looked at the other graves. They were all much older – Jackie's family had lived in Texas for generations. One grave bore a Confederate flag. I studied the dates, and a grim fact emerged. The last grave before Jackie's had been dug in 1990. None of the dates overlapped with her life. The first funeral the Wilcox family had held here since Jackie's birth had been Jackie's.

I left a single flower at Jackie's grave. I walked out of the cemetery, glad that I had been able to say goodbye to my family – and to Jackie.

Originally, I had planned to stop by Zach's place. He was pretty much the only friend I had left alive.

When I had discovered my abilities, Zach was the person I confided in. He had made the tapes for me. He helped me appreciate my powers, and he became my closest friend. Had Sylar not shown up at homecoming, he would have been my date.

Then the Haitian erased Zach's memories of me. But I got him back as a friend. He helped me find my biological mother. And with my family dead or disowned, he was all I had left.

I wanted to see him again so badly. But as I approached his house, I realized that I couldn't put him at risk. I was going to go after the Company, and I didn't want him to suffer the same fate as my family. Zach was the only person alive I could trust.

I was about to leave, when Zach opened the front door.

"Claire?"

"Zach!"

All my worries collapsed when I saw Zach. I ran up to Zach and hugged him. I hadn't seen a friendly face since Peter exploded. When you go that long without friendship, you get lonely.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

How could I answer that? How could I explain everything that had happened over the past four months?

"Well, you'd better come in." He guided me inside, and I sat down on his couch.

I started talking. I told Zach everything that had happened since I had last seen him, starting with the day Ted Sprague and Matt Parkman burst into our home. I told him about my trip to New York, meeting my biological family, the explosion, the aftermath, and my three-month hike from Massachusetts to Texas. When I was done, he stared at me. Then he hugged me.

"You've been through so much," he whispered. "Where are you going to go next?"

"First, I want to visit the school once more. Then I'm going to attack Primatech, and get answers however I can."

Zach seemed to ponder this for a moment. Before he could respond, I cut him off.

"No, you are NOT coming with me!"

"You need help. How are you going to get to Primatech – walk?"

"Possibly. I know for certain that I'm not taking your car." I took a breath. "I am not putting you at risk!"

"Then let me help you think this whole thing through? How are you going to get answers? Do you even know what your questions are?"

"I want to know who carried out the hit on my parents – and who gave the order."

Zach grabbed his laptop, which I noticed was already on – he must have been working on it when he saw me. He opened up Word, and typed:

- Who carried out hit on parents

- Who gave order

-

He looked at me.

"Is that all you want to know?"

I thought for a moment. "I want to know who runs the organization."

He wrote that down, then looked at me again.

"I want to know how big the organization is. I know that they had another facility in New York. I doubt that their one other location apart from New York would be _Odessa_."

"OK, so you know what you want. Now, how are you going to carry out this plan of yours?"

We spent the next several hours plotting my assault on Primatech. First, we needed the layout. Zach pulled the complete blueprints to the factory off the city planning website. The designs included at least three subterranean levels, labeled either 'storage', 'administrative offices', or 'tornado shelter'. Nothing suspicious, until I noticed that many of the 'storage' rooms on the lower two levels had doors too small for big luggage carts, there were 'administrative offices' on all three levels as well as the ground floor (where Dad's office was), and the 'tornado shelter' could hold twice as many people as actually worked at Primatech.

"So what I want is underground," I mused, munching a piece of pizza. Zach's parents were out that night, so he had ordered Dominos.

"Yeah, but in what form?" Zach asked. When I looked at him, he clarified, "I mean, are they going to have some kind of computer database?"

"You don't think so?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, actually, it would make sense. I mean, they're going to need this information in an easy-to-access format. If the CIA has a giant database, why not these guys?"

"It's probably got tons of protection."

"I doubt they're planning on anyone getting down to those levels. They won't need anything more than a password or two – and I can get through that."

"You're not coming."

He slumped.

"But," I added, "the people _there_ know the passwords."

"And you think they'll tell you?"

I gave him an iron glare, and raised a flaming hand. He gulped, and I quenched the flames.

"Well, you could also try and steal a hard drive or two. Then you could bring it back to me and I could hack it for you."

I laughed.

By the time we were done, it was very late. Zach asked me where I was planning to sleep.

"Do you have a guest room?"

Zach shook his head. "We don't have many house guests. And my parents will freak out if they see you on the couch."

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good."

"Say, you have a sleeping bag with you, right?"

"Yeah."

"How about my room? You can sleep on the floor."

"And what happens when your parents come in and find me?"

"My parents haven't come into my room for a long time. They try to give me my privacy."

I envied Zach. Yes, my dad had been trying to protect me when he kept tabs the way he did, stealing tapes and all, but it would have been nice to have some privacy.

"OK."

As had been my habit for the past several months, I slept in my clothes. But I was still sleeping in the same room as a boy whom I _had_ asked to be my date a few months ago. There was the tense feeling of wanting to be close but not too close to him. He was, after all, the only person in the world who could be called my boyfriend.

I fell asleep thinking about Zach. Was he a connection to my old life? On the one hand, I had known him for years. On the other hand, I had only become friends with him _after_ discovering my powers. And now he was helping me in my new life. We had just spent eight hours plotting a terrorist attack. He hadn't tried to stop me – I had to stop him from coming with me.

I loved Zach. Not necessarily in the romantic fashion, but as a friend. Out of all the people in the world, I could depend on him.

* * *

Well, that had a lot more Zach than I originally planned. This is also the longest chapter yet by a few hundred words. If you're wondering what will happen in the future:

Zach and Claire falling in love? Quite possibly.

Zach providing Claire with hacker skills? Definitely.

Large body counts and burning paper factories? Coming in Chapter 4.


	4. Primatech

This is it. Chapter 4. Claire unleashes her dark side, resulting in a disturbingly high body count. I do not own Heroes – NBC and Tim Kring do.

* * *

February 16

I woke up to the sound of Zach's alarm clock. An arm reached over and hit the snooze button. Since sleeping in was not part of the plan, I hit Zach to wake him up.

"Hey!"

"Time to wake up, Zach."

"Mom? What are you – oh, good morning, Claire." He slowly got up.

"I'm going to get dressed," he said.

"OK."

I packed up my bedroll, stuffed my backpack under Zach's bed, and sauntered into the kitchen. It was smaller than the one at our house, but Zach's house was smaller in general. Zach walked in a minute later as I searched the cabinets.

"Do you have any coffee?" I asked.

Zach shook his head. "My parents avoid caffeine like the plague. We can stop by Starbucks on the way to school."

I found a packet of instant oatmeal, which had been my main breakfast fare for the past four months. I filled a pot with water and lit the stove with my fingers. After staring for a moment, Zach poured himself a bowl of cereal. We sat down at a small table to eat.

"Claire, I don't think you should go to the school."

"Why?"

"There's nothing for you there."

I thought about that. To tell the truth, he was probably right. There was no need to 'say goodbye' to a place I had no love for.

"You're right."

"So, how are you going to get to Primatech?"

"I'll take the bus. I saw a bus stop nearby – I'll walk."

I finished my oatmeal, and got up.

"Is this goodbye?" Zach asked.

"No. I might need your help again. But, if I don't contact you within 24 hours, assume that something has gone wrong, and get out of here."

Zach nodded. "Anything you want me to do while you're gone?"

"Delete all those files you downloaded. I have the hard copies we printed in my jacket."

"Gotcha."

I turned to leave, but then I turned back. "Zach…"

"Yes?"

I walked up to Zach, and hugged him.

"Claire, what are you doing?"

"Informing you that I love you."

"You love me?"

"You're the only friend I have, the only person I can trust. I have to love _someone_, why not you?"

"Good point." I broke the embrace. "Well, I'd better get going."

"Good luck. Oh, and Claire?"

"Yes?"

"I think I love you too."

I considered spending the bus ride thinking about Zach, but I decided to focus on my plans. I studied the layout of Primatech carefully. I summoned every memory I had about the place. And then I recalled every happy moment I had with my mother and brother. By the time the bus pulled up outside, I was ready.

I got out of the bus, and waited for it to pull away. I walked calmly towards the door, stopping about twenty feet away. It was time.

I summoned flames in my hands and pushed through the door. Everyone turned to look at me, more in surprise than in shock. The sight of a blonde teenage girl with a menacing look and flaming hands has got to be confusing. Blonde teenage girls tend to be good, while people with menacing looks and flaming hands tend to be bad. Which one was I?

I gave them their answer. I extended one arm towards a large stack of butcher paper. Flames rippled along my arm before shooting out, incinerating the butcher paper. I then moved through the large room, releasing more fiery blasts. Reams and reams of paper went up in smoke. The fire alarms went off, but another blast took care of the bell.

"Security! Out of the way!" I heard. Before I could turn, a gunshot rang out, and I felt an incredible pain in my chest. I had been shot. Again. I blacked out.

I came to a minute later. I was on the ground, and eight security guards were standing around me. They were shocked when I opened my eyes, coughed out the bullet, and stood up.

Once more, fire lashed out from my hands. I was like a flamethrower, consuming three security guards in fire. They screamed and writhed with pain, but I did not let up. I did use hotter flames on the next set of guards, killing them much more quickly.

I didn't stop. The door that led to the hallway – and ultimately to the basement – was close. I stepped over the burned corpses, and ran into the hallway. The smell of charred flesh followed me, but I ignored it. Instead, I focused on the door that led into the stairwell. It was painted gray, and made of metal. It was also locked, and not with a regular key – there was a card reader below the handle.

I considered trying to find someone who could open the door for me, but judging from the sounds coming from the first room, everyone there was running for their lives. So I decided to try brute force. I focused the flames from my hands onto the keycard reader until it was a melted lump of plastic. I stuck my hand into it – it was thick and hot. It burned a little, but after trying to kill myself repeatedly, I had built up a high pain tolerance. I fiddled around with the locking mechanism, and managed to open the door. I shook off the melted plastic, and raced down the stairs. I barely noticed the burns healing.

As I exited onto the first floor, a tranquilizer dart buried itself in my neck. I pulled it out, and while I felt dizzy for a moment, it passed. I turned my head to see an older man pointing a tranquilizer gun at me. Ironically, there was a pistol in a shoulder holster.

"That should have worked…" he gasped, as my hands became fiery once more. I was about to kill him, when I realized that he might be able to provide answers.

"Drop the gun," I ordered. He complied, and the gun was soon a smoking pool of melted plastic.

"Do you know where the computer database is?"

"If I took you to it, they'd kill me."

"If you don't show me, _I'll_ kill you." I roasted a potted plant to demonstrate.

"Follow me."

We went down two more flights of stairs. He showed me his personal computer.

"All the major files are on the network."

"What's the computer password?"

"No password. We use biometric IDs now." He stared into a retinal scanner attached to the monitor, and an alert box declared "Access granted."

I pushed him aside, and got to work. The network contained data on people with powers, records of operations – and a complete employee directory. After downloading everything to the hard drive, I opened the employee directory. A cursory scan revealed that the company was in fact global, with offices around the world. I opened the folder for the Texas branch, and found my father's file.

Noah Bennet had been employed with the company for 15 years. I noticed that one of his earliest assignments was to 'bag and tag' Meredith Gordon – my mother. That assignment had ended in the accidental death of the target, and my dad had been given responsibility for her daughter – me. The file noted that his employment had been terminated shortly after the fire at our house. He had been detained briefly before escaping. The final note in his dossier read:

11-8-2006: Confirmed dead in destruction of New York.

Curiosity got the better of me. Another folder contained "Persons of Interest". I did a search, and found a file for myself. My regenerative powers were mentioned, but not my pyrokinesis. _They'll be updating that later_. A bag-and-tag order on me was in effect.

I then searched for my mother and brother. Nothing. I looked in the 'operations' folder, and found what I was looking for. On November 11, 2006, Sandra and Lyle Bennet were captured and interrogated regarding my whereabouts. In order to prevent them from talking, they were 'terminated'. The operation was carried out by George Seawall and Walt Richards.

Returning to the personnel files, I searched for their names. George Seawall was listed as a 'person of interest' – he had powers. Walt Richards had no powers, but my heart stopped when I saw his picture.

He was standing right behind me.

I turned around, and glared at him. He looked terrified.

"Please don't burn me," he squeaked.

"I was going to, except you just handed me the key to destroying this company." I retrieved the hard drive as I spoke.

"You're going to let me live?"

I took his pistol from his shoulder holster.

"Of course not."

I shot him in the head. As I got up, I noticed a set of keys that had fallen out of his pocket. The key read 'Yamaha'. I glanced to the side, and saw a motorcycle helmet sitting beside the desk.

I wouldn't be taking the bus back to Zach's after all. I pocketed the keys.

Before I left, I emptied the gun into the computer screen. Then I set fire to the room. I marched up the staircase, feeling rather smug. I had gotten what I came for.

Little did I know, I was walking into a nightmare.

I found myself on the main factory floor. The room was filled with wood, pulp, paper, and all the machines needed to transform the former into the latter. It was noisy. Sawdust filled the air. And sitting against one of the machines… was my dad.

Instantly, I was back in Kirby Plaza. I saw Peter glowing brighter. All the emotions of that moment came back to me. Then Peter exploded, and everything went white… to be replaced by Brody Mitchum kissing me. Then holding me down and trying to rape me. Every moment felt like an eternity.

Then I saw Jackie being killed by Sylar. And my mother collapsed on the floor of the kitchen. And then I saw all the images combined. I was simultaneously pointing a gun at Peter, being raped by Brody Mitchum, watching Sylar slice off Jackie's skull, AND kneeling over my unconscious mother, all at the same time. It was too much to bear. I fell to the ground, sobbing.

I heard the sounds of people running on the floor. The guards had come. I shut out the memories, and looked around. Maybe twenty guards were standing at the ready, pointing guns at me.

I let loose with fire once more. But this time, the whole room seemed to catch fire. The sawdust in the air caught fire, making it seem like the air itself was burning. The guards screamed as the flames consumed them. I walked through the flaming room, coming face to face with George Seawall. He was cowering underneath a metal table.

"Stay out of my memories," I told him. Then I torched him. I had found the people who had killed my family, and I had taken revenge.

I walked out of the building into the parking lot. After a few tries, I found Richards' motorcycle. I hopped on, and drove away.

I stopped by a public payphone on the way back to Zach's house and called him.

"Hello?"

"Zach? It's Claire."

"Claire! Are you OK?"

"Of course. I have a hard drive right here. It's protected by a retinal scanner, though. Can you crack that?"

"Yeah. Meet you at my place."

I parked the motorcycle in the bushes. Zach met me at the back door. He stared at me.

"What's wrong, Zach?"

"It's just… I was watching the news. They have dozens of reporters there."

"Let me see."

He led me into the living room, where the local news was showing pictures of a burned-out Primatech. A reporter was gesticulating as she rehashed facts:

"We've been able to confirm that the attacker was a young woman, and that she had pyrokinesis – the ability to create fire. The current death toll is at thirty…"

I turned to Zach. "So, I guess people know about special abilities now?"

"You didn't see Nathan Petrelli's speech?"

"No."

Zach opened his laptop, and went to YouTube. He brought up a video of Nathan addressing a press conference in Staten Island.

_"In the past few months, people have emerged around the globe with what can only be called 'special abilities'. One of these people was my brother, Peter. Peter could absorb the abilities of those around him. He absorbed many abilities – including, unfortunately, the radioactive powers of a man named Ted Sprague. New York was destroyed when Peter lost control of his powers.__"_

_"Now, some might call for those who have special abilities to be rounded up, to prevent the tragedy in New York from happening again. But I don't think that that is what Peter would have wanted. He would have wanted us to embrace this new world."_

Nathan glanced at his watch. _"I'm afraid I have to leave now. I'm supposed to be at the White House in two minutes to brief the President."_ With that, Nathan shot into the air, and took off.

I stared at the screen for a moment.

"You want me to crack that hard drive?" Zach asked.

"Sure." I handed it to him. I followed him up to his room, and watched as he did his thing. Five minutes later, we had total access.

"Claire, are you planning on taking all these files with you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, there are over 400 personnel files in here. That's going to be a lot of paper."

I hadn't thought of that. But Zach had a solution.

"Here, I'll put them on a flash drive."

As he copied the files over, I perused them. The Company had agents around the world. I focused on those agents in the United States, and mentally tracked where they lived. Excluding the now-dead agents in Odessa and New York, a lot of people lived in and around Boulder, Colorado and Atlanta, Georgia. The files didn't contain the location of their offices, but I figured that I could get the information another way.

"You think I can evade your parents for one more night?"

"Probably."

"Then I'll stay here tonight, and leave tomorrow."

"Where will you go?"

"Atlanta. I've had enough of cold weather, so I'll handle Colorado in the spring."

It was rather arbitrary, but I had nothing else to go on.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Well, what do you think? Claire has officially declared her love for Zach, while the Company is down thirty men plus a major facility. And now she has two more targets.

Anyone who gives me a story idea that I like will be credited at the end of Chapter 5!


End file.
